“Let us think of the future,” he said. “Have you any idea about what you mean to do?”
“Mrs. St. John Deloraine is very kind. She wishes me to stay with her always. But I am puzzled about Mr. Cranley. I don’t know what he would like me to do. He seems to have gone abroad.”
Barton hated to hear her mention Cranley’s name.
“Had you known him long?” he asked.
“No; for a very short time only. But he was an old friend of my father’s, and had promised him to take care of me. He took me away from school, and he gave me a start in life.”
“But surely he might have found something more worthy of you, of your education,” said Barton.
“What can a girl do?” answered Margaret. “We know so little. I could hardly even have taught very little children. They thought me dreadfully backward at school—at least, Miss—— I mean, the teachers thought me backward.”
“I’m sure you know as much as anyone should,” said Barton, indignantly. “Were you at a nice school?” he added.
He had been puzzling himself for many days over Margaret’s history. She seemed to have had at least the ordinary share of education and knowledge of the world; and yet he had found her occupying a menial position at a philanthropic bunhouse. Even now she was a mere dependent of Mrs. St. John Deloraine, though there was a stanchness in that lady’s character which made her patronage not precarious.
“There were some nice girls at it,” answered Margaret, without committing herself.